


Baking Drama

by SleepingDragons



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Jane POV, Second person POV, cross posted from moonlightcrazypheonix blog, cross posted from tumblr, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 11:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingDragons/pseuds/SleepingDragons
Summary: “Ok, so you know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow?” Roxy asks, putting the hand towel down when the smoke alarm finally stops.“Yes.”  you decide not to remind her that it’s today now, actually, seeing as it’s 3 am.“Well, I thought you might like a cake, you know, one you didn’t have to make yourself.”  She looks down.  “Only it didn’t turn out so well.”





	Baking Drama

**Author's Note:**

> Originally as a homestuck valentine for sorrylittledanie on Tumblr. I'm posting it here so there's no chance of it getting accidentally deleted. If not for the Tumblr debacle I would not be posting a valentine fic in December, I promise.

Obnoxious beeping pulls you rather abruptly from slumber. You reach a hand out from under the blankets and blindly feel for your alarm clock. You hit the off button perhaps a little harshly, but it wasn’t even supposed to go off this morning, anyway. 

Except it doesn’t stop beeping. You glare at the clock, squinting to try to make the red numbers come into focus. Failing that, you fumble for your glasses and slip them on your face. 

3:23 am. Your alarm clock should not be going off at this ungodly hour of the night. No. 

And then it hits you, like one of John’s whipped cream pies to the face. That’s not your alarm clock.

That’s the fire alarm. 

You jolt out of bed, awake in an instant. You don’t smell smoke, but it has to be going off for a reason. 

You head downstairs, one hand clutching your robe shut. You hit the landing of the stairs and round the corner into your living room, and then stop in confusion.

Why are your lights on? You were sure you left them off last night before going to bed.

At this point you can smell a bit of acrid smoke, and you’re about to turn around and head out your front door when something stops you.

“Janey!” 

You turn. Roxy Lalonde is standing in your hallway. “What are you doing up?” she asks, as if she isn’t standing in your hallway at 3 in the morning, frantically waving a hand towel at your still shrieking smoke alarm.

“The alarm woke me up,” you tell her.

“Oh.” Her face falls. “Don’t worry about that! I’ve got it all under control!”

Sure, she does. “Roxy, what are you even doing?” And why is she doing it in your house?

“Trying to get the smoke alarm to turn off?” she says, shrugging. “There wasn’t even that much smoke, I don’t know why it’s makin’ so much noise!”

“That doesn’t really answer the question, Roxy,” you say, crossing your arms. You love her, you do, but that doesn’t mean you appreciate being woken up in the wee hours of the morning.

“Ok, so you know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow?” Roxy asks, putting the hand towel down when the smoke alarm finally stops.

“Yes.” you decide not to remind her that it’s today now, actually, seeing as it’s 3 am.

“Well, I thought you might like a cake, you know, one you didn’t have to make yourself.” She looks down. “Only it didn’t turn out so well.”

“Let’s see it,” you say.

She leads you into your kitchen. All of the windows are open and the fan is going, presumably to let out the smoke. The oven door is open, and you peak inside. 

Well. That explains it. The cake is definitely overcooked. You’d even go so far as to say it’s charred. 

“How long did you bake it for?” you ask, trying to keep the horror out of your tone.

“I dunno. I set the timer for what it said on the recipe, but I think I fell asleep,” she says. For the first time since waking up, you really take in the state of your girlfriend. There is flour on her shirt, and in her hair. Her makeup is absent, and she looks exhausted. 

“Roxy….” You pull her into a hug. “Thank you, and I mean that. This was a wonderful thought. But maybe you should go to bed now?” 

She protests a little, but ultimately let’s you wipe the flour off of her face and escort her back upstairs to your bedroom. You pull a nightgown out of your dresser, one of hers left there for this express purpose, and help her pull it over her head. 

You glance at the clock before setting your glasses back on the nightstand. 3:59 am. What a night.

Roxy slips into bed behind you, throwing an arm around your middle. You hear her soft snores not long after. You snuggle in and plan to sleep in just a little tomorrow. It’s a holiday after all.

When you wake up the next morning, Roxy is still in bed. She doesn’t stir at all when you sit up. She really is out like a light. 

You go to kiss her forehead before getting out of bed, only to stop in confusion. Why is there frosting on her cheek? You think back, but you are absolutely certain that the cake she baked last night was not at the frosting stage. Not a chance. And yet, a pale blue smudge of frosting is definitely smeared across her cheek.

“Roxy, Roxy, Roxy,” you murmur, wiping off the frosting. “What did you do?” 

You head downstairs, and although anxious isn’t the exact right word, you are still nervous to see what other havoc a well meaning Roxy may have wrought in your kitchen.

Everything seems to be in order when you enter your kitchen. It’s not a complete disaster anyway. Whatever frosting debacle ended up on her face must have at least been cleaned up from your counters. 

A platter of cupcakes greets you when you turn to face your oven. They’re sitting on top, carefully arranged, and even more carefully frosted.

Each cupcake has a base layer of pale blue, the same color you type in, matched exactly. Stenciled in hot pink icing, one letter per cupcake, are the words “Happy Valentine’s Day Janey!” 

You can’t help but smile. She must have snuck back out of bed again last night to do this. No wonder she was so tuckered out! 

You pick up a cupcake (the ‘s one), and carefully unwrap it. A sigh of delight escapes you when you bite into it. It’s heavenly. How on Earth did she pull this off?

Well, two can play at that game, you think to yourself as you begin pulling ingredients and measuring cups down from the cupboards. You are going to make the best breakfast in bed Roxy’s ever seen!

Twenty minutes later, you take a step back and proudly survey your work. Warm maple syrup is drizzled over light and fluffy pancakes, spots of blueberries making your mouth water. The pancakes themselves are in the shape of a heart, and oh boy did that take you no small amount of effort. There’s a bowl of fresh strawberries, blueberries and raspberries off to the side of the plate, in an attempt to be healthy. You pour out a glass of milk and set it on the platter before carefully carrying it upstairs.

Roxy’s just starting to stir when you bump open the half closed door with your hip.

“Janey?” she says, voice slurred with tiredness.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” She sits up and rubs at her eyes. When she finally notices the platter of food, her eyes widen and she breaks into a grin. “Janey, you didn’t!”

“I think it’s fairly obvious I did,” you tell her, setting the platter down in her lap. You sit next to her in the bed, careful not to jostle the platter, and steal a strawberry from the bowl. 

“Hey!” she makes grabby motions at you, so you pick up another strawberry and feed it to her, smiling. You lean over and kiss her cheek. “I love you, Roxy.”

After you eat, you call your secretary at the company, a lovely young man who’s just a little frazzled. You tell him to clear your schedule for today, you’re planning on spending the whole day with your lovely girlfriend.

And you do.


End file.
